In Ancient Times
by raven22372
Summary: Gímli muses about the possibilities, probably before the drinking game after the victory at Helm s Deep


**Fandom**: LOTR

**Pairing**: Legolas/Gímli (implied Celebrimbor/Narvi)

**Rating**: PG-13

**Warning**: none

**Piccie**: Black ink + Photoshop

Gímli´s POV, probably before the ´drinking game` after the victory at Helm´s Deep

It was a Legolas/Gímli fic I found in the Library of Moria that mentioned a possible relationship between the ancestors of Elven and Dwarves, and it´s a crying shame I can remember neither the author nor the story.

Unbetaed – I take full responsibility for all the evil things I did to grammar and spelling. If you detect any seriouos mistakes, please let me know!

**In Ancient Times**

Not bad, this ´ale´ of the horsemen. Hah. Hahahaha. You think I´m drunk, Elf? You do, and you could be right. There is a shadow of discontent between your brows and I can guess its meaning. Out in the wild, embraced by trees and sunlight, you may be king of the forest. Though here, under the roof of a wooden hall, the air thick with smoke and beery laughter, surrounded by bearded men who must seem like tall Dwarves to you, you feel uneasy. More: by now it was mostly you who ran ahead whereas I, born and raised under the mountain, had no choice than trotting behind you, trusting your knowledge. Yet now that you witness me enjoying myself – and I would never even dream of accusing you of envy – you do not know what to make of it. The truth is simple and you must forgive me for finding it amusing: Through all your absurdly long life you have never seen a drunken Dwarf.

So what do you expect me to do after some proper mugs of beer? What would Elves do then, when having a few cups of… nectar or blossom dew or what do I know what it is you drink. Do you start to sing, polishing up the ancient verses to grant them a bit of a glitter? Do you tear off your clothes and dance around on a moonlit glade, braiding flowers into your hair? – Not that the undesirable image of a dozen scrawny creatures, white like maggots was anything I would fancy, yet each to their own. Or does it not affect you at all? How boring. What other way is there to deepen a friendship if not by getting foolish and pathetic together?

I watch you, Elf. Hahah. You think you watch me, but I watch you too. The way you look at me suggests that you would find the notion of _me_ stepping out of my clothes not very pleasing either. So what is it that makes you favour my company? Is it obligation towards a fellow wayfarer? Pity for somebody who is as far from his own kind as you are? Curiosity?

When I was a young Dwarf I listened to the tales of the first alliance that was forged between our folks before the trench of mistrust and deception divided them. It is said that it was Celebrimbor of the Noldor who reached out his hand to Narvi, the Dwarven smith, to lift him up to the light and show him the wonders that laid under the sun. Though according to our lore it was Narvi who led his friend under the roots of the mountains, where he revealed their sleeping secrets to him. He guided him safely, and it is also said that in the darkness, where outer appearances weigh less heavy, the differences between them fell off and they found themselves united in the Great Night. One step to follow the dripping of distant water, one voice to break at invisible crags; one heartbeat to meld with the echoes in the walls, hammer blows of Dwarven miners long gone.

A forge needs both fire and water to make an iron that deserves its name. Hard elements have to be smelt and soft elements have to be hardened to finally merge into a metal strong enough to outlast the centuries of toil, and yet supple enough to be moulded into the most fragile shapes. It is neiter greed nor grim will but the power of genuine friendship, the skills of hammer and heart brought together, that creates a substance as rare as _mithril _and as coveted as gold. Two miners, working hand in hand on they point where they can finish the other one´s sentences, in order to craft what is the purest, most resilient material of all: the essence of true iron.

And now, out of sheer friendship, shall I deliver you from the company of hairy men? Would you follow a drunken Dwarf into his den to exchange legends from the past? Assuming that you are interested in the art of craftsmanship, maybe you would like to forge some iron?

Is that doubt in your eyes once so confident? Have no fear, Elf prince. I will show you the secret of moonlight dancing on a silver string. I will tell you about the fireflies illuminating Dúrin´s halls, and the beasts that live underground, white and eyeless. I will speak to you of the tunnels deep under the world, built in the dawn of time, that bring the traveller to the most far away places in less than a day. I will sing you the songs only passed from Dwarven mouth to Dwarven ear, songs that lead you to water or gold or a lode of iron ore, no matter how deep below the earth you are. I will share secrets with you even your Elders have not heard about yet. Follow Gímli the Dwarf, dear friend, and I will guide you safely and with the same gentleness as my ancestor.

But first I have to get myself another ale


End file.
